In Dreams
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: Carol lives in a never-ending nightmare... or does she?
1. Rush

Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Robert Kirkman, Tony Moore, and Charlie Adlard. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Because I need yet another fandom like I do a hole in the head... naturally, I found one. Also, I hate zombies. _Hate_ them. I usually watch this show with my eyes covered. What am I doing here? Yeah, I keep asking myself that. I do enjoy the interpersonal drama when they're not being hounded by the walking dead, so I keep coming back against my better judgment. This is for my dear sister, Raevon. Luvya, Sis. :) Monstrously HUGE thank you to BigBadJayne for his expertise in beta-reading. All errors are mine.

I am so thankful for my fandom family. Truly blessed.

Spoilers—Through the end of Season Two.

In Dreams—Carol lives in a never-ending nightmare... or does she?

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><p>Rush<p>

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><p>She let her hand drift through the tall grasses as she walked peacefully through the serene field. Warm sunshine. She'd forgotten what it was like, to bask in the glow of summertime. It was like a whole different world, lush green surrounded her, dotted by the occasional tuft of pink, red, purple or yellow. She hated to pick the flowers that lined the field. Why take the beauty back for a brief time, when they might live on the whole rest of the season?<p>

"Do you have to walk _so_ slow?"

Carol smiled. "It's nice, just to take a stroll."

Full of boundless energy, Sophia sighed, taking exaggerated steps alongside her mother. "We've been strolling for _hours_," she lamented.

"And isn't it lovely?" Carol stilled, kneeling down. A caterpillar was in the middle of its tedious crawl up one of the wispy stalks. "See? Look what you'd miss if you were just running here and there, paying no attention."

Sophia crouched down by her mother. "Seems to me, he'd still be here when we came back, even if we ran as fast as we could for a little while."

She eyed her daughter, trying to be serious but failing miserably upon seeing sweet Sophia's smile. "There's no need to rush through life."

She keeled over in the grass. "There's no need to be a snail, through, Mom."

"What's so important, huh? Why do we need to run? Where are we going?"

The twelve-year-old sat up. "Does it matter, if we're together?"

Carol shook her head slowly. "You have a point there."

"So, how 'bout it, then?" Sophia asked, getting to her feet. "On the count of three..."

She pretended to ponder but, in reality, spent the moment admiring her daughter's spunk and vitality. Sophia was her beautiful angel, a darling girl.

The child huffed when it looked like her mother wasn't about to play along.

Carol got into position, resting her hands on her right thigh, her knees bent, ready to run. But, she took a mental picture, for later. Sophia's soft hair, her bright eyes, her playful smile. Her blue tee shirt, her favorite shorts.

She giggled. "One..."

"Two," Carol added only a breath later.

"Three!"

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><p>The cold breeze was like a slap in the face when her eyes opened. It wasn't summer. Her Sophia wasn't ready to race; she was buried back on whatever remained of Hershel's farm, swarming with the rotting, disgusting walking dead. A wave of nausea at the memory crested and crashed over her. Her reality was harsh, and the coming winter wasn't making it any better.<p>

It was early still, just before dawn, when Carol pushed herself off the hard ground and got to her feet. Movement could help stave off the chill, get blood flowing back into her extremities. She absently rubbed at her arms, hoping the friction would speed the process.

The camp's watchman glanced over, the crossbow in his arms. Daryl had been enjoying the quiet. He much preferred the shift in the middle of the night, when there was little to no chance of any of the others waking. It prevented potentially awkward conversation, the morning pleasantries that he'd never found particularly useful even before the world had gone crazy. He braced for the greeting he just _knew_ Carol would give.

She hadn't noticed him as she paced quietly around the tiny encampment, mindful of the others sleeping around what was left of the dying fire embers. Just as quickly as she had woken, she stilled.

Daryl narrowed his eyes slightly, wondering if she'd seen something. Instead of watching outward, he had taken only a few seconds to turn inward, but had that been enough for some shuffling walker to find them? He didn't see anything, not off where she was looking, not anywhere. He hadn't even heard any tell-tale signs of an approaching predator—dead or alive.

Just when Carol thought the sadness, the reality of their situation would weigh her shoulders down for the hundredth time, it didn't. Yes, it was cold. Yes, she was lonely without her little girl. Yes, evil lurked around every stone, every tree, every car. She lived in a never-ending nightmare... except for last night.

Mere moments ago, she'd seen Sophia, alive and happy. It had been warm and safe. It was life as she had wanted it. It was a perfect, wonderful dream. She hadn't had _any_ of those, not since... not since _before_.

He wasn't sure if he should be alarmed further or relieved when he saw her smile. It was slow at first, tugging at the very corners of her mouth before blossoming across her entire face. Part of him feared what Rick had told them the night before, that they were _all_ infected, that it was only a matter of time before they, too, succumbed. Maybe her odd behavior was the beginning of her end. A tiny fraction of him held onto _hope_ that she was actually just happy.

It wasn't easy to be happy.

She began moving again, giving her arms one last swift rub.

"Y'all right?" he drawled, just to be safe.

Momentarily startled, she looked up at him, standing sentry atop the wall surrounding them. "Just fine," she said with a nod. "You?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

She took that as the end of their conversation, and that was fine by her. She gathered up the blanket she had slept on and under, taking it away from the rest of the sleeping group and shaking the leaves and dirt from it before carefully folding it back up, doing her best to remember every detail of what had possibly been the best dream _ever_.

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><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	2. Before

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Carol has a great dream, spending time with Sophia in the summertime, and wakes up to the living nightmare.

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><p>Before<p>

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><p>She wasn't sure she'd ever seen the sky <em>that<em> blue. As she stared up, she wondered what the name of that color might be. It was too pale to be a cobalt, too bright to be a cerulean. She knew it was just perfect, whatever it was.

"Mom?"

"Mm?" Carol asked, her hands resting on her stomach, feet crossed at the ankles as she lay stretched out in the sunshine. The grass felt cool and soft, bent beneath her.

"You're doing that slow thing again."

She laughed. "Sophia, patience is a virtue."

"What's a virtue?"

"A trait we should all strive to have."

"What's a trait?"

"You know, a behavior." Before Sophia could ask again, Carol said: "And a behavior is a way to act." She turned her head, to see her daughter's blond locks splayed out across the ground, a mischievous smile on her mouth.

"What's an act?"

"This _thing_ you're doing now," Carol explained, smiling herself.

Sophia giggled.

"Isn't it nice, just to be here?"

The little girl shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. There are other places to be, other things to see."

"And there you are, in a rush again."

She sat up, picking a blade of grass from the arm of her tee shirt. "I can't help it. I want to see it all."

Carol took a slow, deep breath. "And you will, someday. But don't do everything at once. It makes life no fun. Once you've done it, what's left for you to do, hmm?"

"To do it all again. Like our race..."

Carol felt a peculiar sensation, like she had remembered the run, but she was unable to pull up all the details. She could remember having fun, feeling free, but the act itself was somehow missing from her memory.

"You know you had fun." Sophia got to her feet, tugging her mother to hers.

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><p>Another night, another dream. She hated that she was awake, in the dark, foreboding world. She missed the field with Sophia. While she knew it wouldn't and couldn't be her reality, not until she, too, found her way to heaven someday, she felt a tremendous sense of loss. Like Cinderella at midnight, she was no longer in the idyllic life she craved, but in the wretched one she was made to live.<p>

It was another morning waking up under Daryl's watchful eyes.

She offered him a slight smile and a tiny wave before getting up and gathering up her blanket.

While he wasn't one for idle conversation, he did feel the need to make a comment. "Don't remember you bein' up early like this before."

Before. There were so many benchmarks marked by that one word. She remembered a time before she was married, before Sophia was born, before the walker plague came about, before Sophia died. She knew, though, that his before was before they left the farm, even before they had arrived at the farm in the first place. She gave a slight shrug. "Believe me, if I could sleep longer, I would."

It seemed a strange statement backed with such wistfulness that he felt compelled to question: "What do you mean?"

She took a slow breath, glancing around the camp. Everyone else was breathing deeply, evenly. She envied them. "I know that it's weird, but I've actually had sweet dreams the past two nights."

Daryl arched an eyebrow. He'd seen most of the group wake up in cold sweats, feeling for weapons, reaching out to family to make sure they were still close. He hadn't heard one of them say anything about having a _nice_ dream.

"Sophia is there. It's... It's like heaven, or what I imagine it might be like."

"Must make this world an even bigger let down."

In spite of everything, she gave him a rare, broad smile. "It just means that there's another sixteen, eighteen hours till I can sleep again, till I can see my baby."

It hadn't been the response he'd been expecting in the slightest. The world around them was hellish, horrible. People—loved ones—died in the most gruesome, bloody ways. Witnessing violent murders at the hands of unthinking, unyielding predators was more than enough to make anyone consider giving up. Their group was fractured, on-edge. With their numbers ever declining, it was clear that the differing of opinions would not be tolerated under any circumstances. He didn't know much about history, but he knew that wars were fought and countries were fractured over differing opinions. They were all walking a fine line.

Except, Carol was happy, throwing beaming smiles around like _before_ everything. Not that he'd known her then, but he could imagine. He could imagine Sophia's in return, just like her mother's. It didn't matter how much crap Ed had thrown at them _before_, it was still better than going hungry, than watching for signs of trouble at every turn, or the unending death that surrounded them. At least, it was in his mind.

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><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	3. Keeping Watch

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Carol sees Sophia again in her dreams, and confesses to Daryl the reasons behind her smiles.

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><p>Keeping Watch<p>

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><p>The field was fast becoming her favorite spot. She felt the need to give it a name, like Sophia's Meadow, Peaceful Paradise, or maybe even Heaven on Earth. There, the birds sang, the air smelled sweet, and everything was right with the world.<p>

Carol wanted to live there, under the cloudless sky, forever.

Sophia meandered around, inching ever closer to the tree line.

"Come back here, sweetie. Stay close, will you? You don't know what's out there..."

The little girl huffed a sigh. "Probably just deer, Mom."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Something nagged at her, at the edge of her brain, at the fringes of her consciousness, that there were more than just friendly woodland creatures out there.

"Don't you want to see more?" Sophia asked. "I mean, what if we're missing something even greater somewhere else?"

Carol admired her tenacity, but how could anything be better than that moment? "What if we miss out on something perfect here? If we go wandering off to look at something else, how do we know that we won't miss the world's prettiest bluebird singing us the sweetest tune? Or a whole mess of butterflies descending?"

Sophia danced ever closer to the wooded edge of the field, spinning with her arms outstretched. "Who's to say they aren't out there now, waiting on us?"

She looked at the woods, at the darkness that shrouded them. For the first time since entering the field, she felt icy fingers tickle her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, causing her mouth to go dry and her knees to go weak. "Stay here, Sophia, won't you? Just a little longer..."

The girl shook her head, bounding headlong into the woods.

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><p>Despair gripped her heart. It was too good to last. Didn't Sophia know that walkers lived in the woods? That death lurked there, waiting for the lure of something living, young, and innocent to idly wander through? Covering her face with her hands, she wanted to forget the dream she'd just had. She wanted it to shatter into a million pieces, never to be seen again. She didn't want to remember the earnestness in Sophia's eyes before she rushed off or even the serenity that lingered in the field. Everything that had been good about the past two nights was gone. She was back to living in hell.<p>

Daryl sighed, jumping off the wall and landing silently on the ground. Fate, karma, whatever, it was cruel, and, clearly, it was torturing Carol.

She wordlessly stood, picking up her blanket and shaking it out. She struggled to remember the nights before, with the comforting surroundings. It had been such a blessing, to see her Sophia alive, that it troubled her, seeing the darling child rush into what she _knew_ was the end.

He watched her, as she kept herself busy, as she hurried to put away the blanket back into the saddle bag of the bike, parked just on the other side of the protective wall. Ever since the herd had descended, the cars were never far from where they slept, things were packed the moment they weren't being used, just in case. With the blanket secured, she wrapped her arms around herself.

She longed for the warmth she had felt moments before. Unfortunately, she had to settle for the uncomfortable blush from embarrassment. "I'm no walker," she murmured.

"What?"

She turned, her eyes meeting his only for the briefest of seconds. "I'm no walker," she repeated. "Isn't that what you're supposed to be looking for?"

"Just keepin' watch."

"Don't need to be keepin' watch over me," she said.

His job was to keep the group safe but he didn't point that out. "You see her again?" When she drew in a ragged breath, he had his answer. "Not looking forward to sleeping tonight, I guess."

"I should still be happy," she said. "I still saw Sophia. Alive, vibrant, curious..." She stared off in the distance, at nothing.

He wasn't good at advice. He felt like he ought to say something, but nothing came to mind.

"I just don't want to see her die again. She's already died _twice_, isn't that enough?"

Knowing a loved one died was horrible. Learning that, after they'd died, they had reanimated, turning into something else entirely, some mindless, starving freak was far worse. He hoped what he was about to say would provide some kind of comfort. "Ain't real."

She closed a fist over her heart on the outside of her shirt. "Feels real," she whispered. "Feels like I really can touch her, hold her... Feels like she was a little lamb, off to slaughter when I woke up."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Maybe it's this place, this campsite. We won't be here tonight," he promised. "We've got enough gas, enough supplies, what we can find here. We'll be outta here as soon as everybody else wakes up."

She nodded. Maybe he was right. "Guess I'll find out tonight," she murmured.

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><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	4. Voice of Reason

For notes and disclaimer, see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Carol's dreams don't seem so sweet and she wakes with a start. Daryl finds himself giving advice, which isn't well received.

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><p>Voice of Reason<p>

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><p>The laughter floated through the woods, sweet like honey, light like feathers. She did her best to trail along. There wasn't a clear path. Gnarled roots, fallen branches lined the path as she climbed through. "Sophia?" she called.<p>

"C'mon, Mom!"

"Sophia, slow down, would you?" It felt sticky in the woods, hotter than it had in the field. She wasn't as young as she used to be; the exertion wasn't fun after a while. She struggled to keep up.

"Gotta be faster!"

Carol pushed harder, using the smaller trees to propel herself forward. The further they went, the more she knew they'd never be back in the field again. The safety was gone, lost forever. The soft grass, the beautiful flowers, the bluer than blue sky, all abandoned. She felt dizzy as she continued, deeper and deeper into the woods. The light shining through the tree branches created a strobe effect as she moved.

"I can't wait for you to see this," she said, her voice almost sing-song.

She wanted, desperately, to think happy thoughts, to wonder what it was Sophia wanted to show her. Maybe a new kind of flower, a beautiful tree. She was worried about what was hiding in the shadows. Animals, predators... They weren't safe, of that Carol was certain.

"It's so beautiful, Mom. I don't want you to miss it! C'mon!" There was an urgency in her voice that hadn't been there before. Sophia wasn't scared, just eager.

Pressing on, Carol had a hard time feeling her legs. It was like there was a short circuit, an issue in her brain. She knew she was running and had been for a while, but she the fatigue she _knew_ she should be experiencing just wasn't there.

The melody of Sophia's laughter was accentuated by a repeated mantra, a warm drawl that seemed both out of place yet exactly where it needed to be. She couldn't make out the words at first. Not until she nearly fell, face first, into a creek was she finally able to make out _Daryl's _voice.

"Ain't real."

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><p>When she sat up, it was in a new campsite, hours further down the road. It hadn't been as secure as the last one, surrounded by rock walls. They were protected by an earthen mound, the remnant from some old construction project that had never gotten too far off the ground, only partially cleared and surrounded by piles of fill dirt that had been dumped but never spread. It was warmer than the last camp, as the walls with the open doorways had created a breezeway.<p>

When morning rolled around, and Carol woke, Daryl was sitting, crouched on one of the man-made hills, his crossbow balanced on his knee.

As was her custom, she got up, shook out her blanket, and made her way to the bike.

He hadn't asked if she wanted to ride with him when they'd left the morning before. He'd just looked at her and she'd quietly climbed on behind him. There were other seats, she could've easily ridden with someone else and been more secure inside a car, but sitting behind Daryl had been just fine.

He watched her for a moment before standing and descending the hill slowly.

Carol took quick stock of the camp, noting well that the others were asleep and far from them. Nervously, she cleared her throat. "Don't take this the wrong way..."

He arched an eyebrow.

"But you were in my dream. Sort of."

Daryl ran a hand through his hair. "All right," he drawled, waiting for her to continue, if she wanted to.

"What you said yesterday..."

He never said much, and he couldn't recall what he'd said the day before, if anything, that would've been important enough for her to remember.

"It's not real. My baby can't be hurt anymore. Even if the dream winds up being bad as these nights wear on, at least... at least this time, I can be there with her. She won't have to die alone, wondering where her mama is."

He wasn't entirely sure it was healthy, not that he had ever been a good judge of that before. Maybe it was all part of the grieving process. Things hadn't slowed down enough since the dead started rising for any of them to fully go through the motions of loss. There were still dreams of his that felt so real, of ice cold beer, cell phones, and twenty-four hour television stations. "Just, so long as you remember where you're supposed to be."

She tilted her head to one side curiously, rubbing the chill from her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Dreams, reality... it's all messed up anymore. Don't forget which one you're really living."

Sage advice, she realized, from the camp's only voice of reason. She gave him the smallest of smiles in return. "I won't."

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><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	5. Laughter is the Best Medicine

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. This one especially is for you, Sis, written on 3/23. Love you.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: When Sophia runs into the woods in Carol's dream, Daryl's voice brings her back to reality.

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><p>Laughter is the Best Medicine<p>

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><p>Sophia balanced precariously on one foot atop the rocky bank across the water. She giggled at the shocked look on her mother's face.<p>

"Don't you go scarin' me like that," Carol drawled, placing a hand over her heaving chest.

"Isn't it pretty, Mom? What'd you call those in the stories you used to tell? Babbling brooks?"

She nodded, deciding that the bubbling sound of the flowing creek did seem to fit the bill.

"And you wanted to stay in the field." The little girl giggled. "Can't stay in the field forever."

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" Carol asked. Once she felt calmer, better, she angled her way across the water, going from exposed stone to exposed stone, to reach her daughter.

"Well, part of it," she said with a bob of her blonde head.

"I just wish you wouldn't go running off like that. Your mom's ol' nerves are frazzled enough."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

An image of a small plot encircled with field stones came to mind. "That's not a question to ask, Sophia, believe me."

Her little shoulders reached her ears before her back curved and she seemingly deflated. "The world is so big and so pretty and so full of... of... _stuff_, isn't that what we're supposed to do? Go looking, go having fun? Being fruitful and adding?"

Carol laughed. It wasn't a forced sound, nothing that came from relief after a particularly frightening event. It was honest and real, it warmed her very core, radiating out to her extremities. "At least you were paying some kind of attention in Sunday School."

Sophia frowned. "Well, _dividing_ doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Do you subtract? I mean, if there's fruit enough to eat for everyone, then that's... well, that would be subtracting from the trees..."

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><p>When he heard <em>laughter<em>, he wondered if he was losing his mind. The world lost all its mirth, all its humor the second the first walkers shuffled forward. His eyes roved the camp, scouting over the Greenes, the Grimeses, before landing on who it _had_ to be.

He soundlessly crossed the camp toward her, before hissing quietly to try to get her attention. "Hey. Hush up, would'ja?"

She was holding her stomach when her eyes opened, still chuckling. "D-Daryl?" she asked, between softened peals.

"Gonna wake the rest of 'em," he whispered.

She quieted, realizing that it was just before dawn yet again. She eased out of her makeshift bed and looked up at him. She was surprised at the concern in his eyes, the way his head was tilted slightly, questioningly. With a shrug, she picked up the blanket and, instead of putting it immediately in the bike's saddle bag, she wrapped herself up with it, walking with him back to his post. "You seen anything?"

He shook his head. Being as they were out in the open, essentially, just off the road, he wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing. He appreciated not finding other groups, particularly if the closest ones were _Randall's_ ilk, but he'd much rather see the occasional lone walker, or maybe one in a small group than none at all. It reminded him too much of the farm and when the herd seemed to materialize out of thin air.

She sat at his feet, wrapping her arms (and the blanket) around her knees, which were drawn to her chest. "That's good, right?"

He gave a shrug. "Depends on how you look, I guess." He glanced down at her. "You musta slept pretty good..."

The smile, unbidden, grew on her face again, until her cheeks hurt. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had that sensation. "Out of the mouths of babes sometimes," she said quietly. "It really... I really feel like I'm talking with her, that we're having real conversations, like if we hadn't gotten separated when we did, if we were together now... this is what she'd say, this is how she'd act." She shook her head, realizing he probably didn't want to hear. "And here I am, just goin' on and on about it."

"It's like having a good memory, right?" he asked.

She nodded.

He drew in a slow breath. "Take the good where you can. Ain't any of that left anymore."

But, he was wrong. It hadn't died with the walkers; it just became harder to find. "Even birds sing after the rain, Daryl. Good isn't gone. It's just hidden. Some places, it's hiding better than others."

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><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	6. Determined Or Annoying

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Carol wakes up giggling after Sophia bumbles a quote.

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><p>Determined. Or Annoying.<p>

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><p>Sophia splashed as they headed upstream. Sometimes she kicked at the water as they skimmed along, and sometimes she jumped in outright, causing a cascade to erupt all around her.<p>

Carol's first instinct was to tell her to be quiet, but as soon as the thought came to mind, she couldn't remember _why_. It was a beautiful day; the sun shone brightly on their shoulders as they trekked along. Children were only young once. Constant correction wasn't needed; gentle guidance was. So, she let Sophia jump, skip, and dance, so long as she didn't hurt herself.

"Did you ever do this, Mom?"

"What, hike?"

Sophia spun in the center of the stream, balancing on her tiptoes. "Go exploring."

"I used to."

"What made you stop?"

"There were other important things to do. Work, family... things happen."

"Things happen," Sophia echoed.

"When you aren't lookin', when you aren't ready, sometimes surprises come your way, and you have to deal with them. It's not always fun, not always what you want, but it's what you need to do."

"Mom?"

She smiled. "Yeah?"

"There's something else I_ need_ to show you." Sophia dashed ahead, along the banks.

Carol struggled to keep up.

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><p>When she woke, it was with a sudden jerk of her body, like her legs were running, keeping pace with Sophia as she led the way through the woods. She still couldn't get over how real it felt, like they were in a spot that existed, like Sophia was still alive and breathing and <em>not<em> buried in the ground.

It was becoming second nature for Carol to wake up early and for Daryl to be there when it happened. The rest of camp, however, was still adjusting. When the hits started, it was like they wouldn't stop. It felt like forever since everything changed, but if they stopped to think about it, it had only been some weeks, maybe only a couple months at the most. It felt like it should've been years.

It all happened in waves. The pain came in spurts, in overwhelming, overlapping misery. Dale, Shane, Andrea, the farm itself, Jimmy and Patricia... Everyone else was dizzy, lost, but Carol seemed to be the most lucid, the most grounded.

He nodded at her.

"Quiet night again?"

"Gettin' kinda dull," he admitted with a slight grin.

She smiled in return as she got up, to start her day.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably as she folded the blanket. "Sophia still okay?"

She paused briefly in her morning routine before continuing toward his bike. "Thank you for askin'. She is. She... she wants to show me something. She's so determined... Well, she used to be, y'know..."

"Like her mama," he commented.

Her eyes met his, but he immediately looked down.

"Just... determined is kinda close to _annoying_." He scratched at the back of his neck. "Sometimes."

"I'll take annoying," she said with a nod. "I'm just glad you don't think I'm crazy."

He looked up at her. Even in the dawning morning, his narrowed eyes clearly held a curious fire.

"I might've mentioned, in passing to somebody, about dreaming of Sophia. I got _the look_. One of those pitying kinds, like if the world wasn't all..." She waved her hand, to indicate the madness that surrounded them. "Then, I'd be locked up."

"Everybody's crazy. Anybody who says they ain't, they've got even bigger issues than the rest of 'em," Daryl answered knowingly.

She eased onto the back of the motorcycle, casually sitting side-saddle. "Glad to know I'm in good company."

"Still ain't sure it's _good_," he said quietly.

"You don't have to be. 'Cause I am."

He stood a little straighter, tilting his head even more curiously to look at her. He couldn't tell if it was that determined thing, or that _annoying_ thing, particularly when she gave him a half-smile in return.

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><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	7. Safety

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Sophia wants to show Carol something. Daryl decides they're all crazy, and there's a thin line between being determined and annoying.

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><p>Safety<p>

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><p>She reached out and grabbed her daughter, pulling her close when she <em>felt<em> the eyes on them. She could tell Sophia was about to say something; she hated to, but Carol clamped a hand over the girl's mouth.

Sophia stilled in the protection of her mother's arms.

Glancing around, she saw a pair of hungry, yellow eyes peer at them from behind a tree. The snarling growl was menacing, especially as the bear maneuvered itself on its thick paws. It crawled forward, its mouth open and salivating.

Like a shot, Sophia slipped from Carol's grasp and raced further along the creek bed.

With no weapons, no ability to stop the monster lurking across the way, Carol had no choice but to follow after Sophia again. Part of her wanted to make a stand, just to accept it; however, the overwhelming desire to save her daughter was undeniable.

At the fallen, rotting log, Sophia edged away from the banks. The path, long neglected, was laced with tangled, thorny brambles. They caught on the legs of Carol's pants, threatening to slow her, maybe even stop her with a fall, but determination edged her ever forward, climbing ever higher as she moved away from the creek.

Sophia's feet were sure, landing with precision in clearings, on flat, sturdy rocks.

Carol tried to call out to her daughter when the young blonde disappeared from her immediate vision _again_. No matter how loudly she cried, her voice simply couldn't carry. It was like it was being drowned out by something. She stilled for a moment, long enough to hear the thundering gait of the approaching bear. She had no choice but to _hope_ she was following her daughter's path, logic telling her that the predator would've stopped, enjoyed its kill had it caught Sophia.

When the trees cleared, she could barely believe what she saw before her. For a split second, she wondered if she hadn't found an oasis, a mirage in the woods. The sun shone brighter, warmer. The colors appeared crisper, clearer. Everything was _better_. It was like before, in Sophia's Meadow, when a feeling of unyielding peace permeated her. She hadn't realized how high she'd climbed until she saw the rushing water, falling from a rocky outcropping some thirty feet above her, descending down into and feeding the creek where she and Sophia had been only minutes before.

Waving ferociously, the little girl was partially hidden, protected by the falling water from the rest of the forest.

* * *

><p>Daryl began his descent into the camp only moments before Carol woke. He'd been waiting, watching. With little else to keep him occupied, he'd been keeping track of the placement of the moon and stars, the slow approach of dawn, all to estimate when she would stir, when her dream would end. After a week of observation, he'd nailed it fairly accurately.<p>

As sleep left her, Carol gasped softly.

For a half a second, Daryl wondered if he hadn't startled her awake prematurely. A moment later, when she sat up, she was genuinely surprised to see him.

"Mornin'," she drawled softly, almost bashfully.

He dipped his head slightly in return, looking at her nearly expectantly.

She wasn't sure what that expression meant and took a minute to consider it as she got to her feet and "made her bed," as it were. Surely, he didn't want to hear her rambling about her dream, about what had happened in the night with Sophia. Although, she wished she could show him the beauty of the waterfall. She knew she'd never be able to adequately describe the exquisiteness of the scene.

"Well?"

She glanced up at him, her eyes searching his. "You... you want to know?"

He brushed off her shock. "Ain't nothin' else to talk about, is there?"

It was true; topics of conversation had dwindled over the weeks. Everyone knew what was going on, because the news only stretched to the fringes of their group. There was no President to follow, no Wall Street to blame for anything, not even the voyeuristic pleasure of taking about celebrities. There were only so many anecdotes that anyone could share before their repertoires were exhausted.

The smile that grew on her face reached her eyes at the realization that, on some level, he really did _care_, and then she began to gush. "Oh, Daryl, I wish you could've seen this place. That I could show you—that _Sophia_ and I could show you..."

"That nice, huh?" he asked. There were places he'd have liked to have seen, things he'd have liked to have done in his lifetime. Those dreams died—they had to—when the dead started to rise. There was no point in going places, in experiencing new things when, every time he turned around, he had to struggle to survive.

"Even though there was this bear chasing us, it was... it was like it didn't matter, once we got to this spot."

He blinked. "Bears?" Of all the fool things to be afraid of at this point in life, _bears_ weren't one of them. He wouldn't have minded snagging one, though. The fur might be beneficial for the coming winter, not to mention the bountiful meat.

"Considering," she began, gesturing around their camp, "I'll settle for a bear any day."

He couldn't begrudge her that, offering her an understanding half-shrug in response.

When silence descended on them again, just milling by the bike, she reached out, placing a hand on his forearm.

He was jolted slightly but settled as she offered a gentle squeeze. While she never said anything, he knew it was in appreciation. He still wasn't _used_ to being thanked. It was still so easy, to quantify things as happening before the walkers or after them. As they stood there, in the dawning twilight, he realized the before didn't matter. People were gone. Lives were different. It was time to move on, to adjust to the current reality. There was a new world order, and if it was under Rick's dictatorship, then that's just the way it was. He needed to figure out how to operate within those confines.

He was beginning to feel like that meant trusting people, letting people in. He'd never done anything like that before, not really, but maybe he could let Carol in. A teeny, tiny bit.

* * *

><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	8. Priceless

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Waking Dead—Carol follows Sophia to a waterfall, and Daryl lets Carol in, just a touch.

* * *

><p>Priceless<p>

* * *

><p>The astonishment on Carol's face, at the beauty of the waterfall was the exact opposite of the horror on Sophia's delicate features. Carol had forgotten about the predator in their midst when faced with the exquisite landmark. Only when her sweet daughter's shrill shriek reached her ears did she propel herself forward, making the final push into the safety of the alcove behind the falls.<p>

It had been a peculiar place to get into, as Carol had to climb a steep hill and edge along a well-worn rock lip to join her daughter.

Sophia looked up at her mother with an almost smug expression.

"This won't protect us forever," Carol said, already trying to figure out what the next steps needed to be, to ensure their continued safety. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the cavern, because she did, but there were no supplies there, no food, no escape. She wracked her brain, her eyes looking everywhere. The cave didn't have a secondary exit. The creek down below hadn't been deep. Up didn't seem to be much of an option either.

"Doesn't have to. Look!" Sophia pointed outward, at the bear.

It shuffled, shifting its weight from one paw to another, sniffing at the air. It appeared confused, confounded.

Carol bit the inside of her cheek, watching as the bear attempted to ascend the hill. Once it reached the top, however, it very nearly fell back down again, as its body was simply too heavy to maneuver the terrain. She pushed Sophia behind her. At the very least, if the bear charged, she could take the brunt and maybe Sophia could find her way out, to Daryl, so that her baby could live.

"No, Mom, it's okay..."

To her amazement, the bear lost footing, sliding down to the flatter ground. While it attempted to scramble up again, it never found its way to the tiny ledge, to make its way to the alcove behind the water.

"See?" Sophia hugged her mother tightly. "I told you..."

* * *

><p>Daryl's timing was off. Carol was up a solid hour before he expected her to be. He frowned, but she didn't seem to be hurt or upset this time. She looked confused. He waited, until her eyes found his, and he nodded her over.<p>

She wasted no time, getting up and crossing to him, leaving her blanket forgotten on the ground. "What do you know about bears?"

He chuckled. "Bears again?"

"Can they track through water?"

"Water's always been somethin' hard for trackers to get a read on. That's why it's good, you get caught by somebody, you run through the water for a while. Upstream, downstream... don't matter."

"Yeah, but bears have animal abilities, right?"

He looked at her for a moment. "You realize that was all just in your dream... Whatever bear you and Sophia might've found, don't mean you're gonna find one here."

She paused. "Well, yeah, but-" She drifted off suddenly, wrapping her arms around herself and taking a half step back from him. "You do think it's silly, don't you?"

Whatever shift she'd made, he hadn't made it with her. "What?"

"My dream. Bears." Her tone was _almost_ accusatory.

"Aren't dreams supposed to mean somethin'? Like, you see a house, but it _means_ somethin' else. Can't be just... you and Sophia bein' chased by a bear." While he nearly continued his train of thought, he didn't. He realized it would've been a mistake—a bad one—to remind her that Sophia was dead.

She closed her eyes. "You _do_ think it's silly."

While he didn't think anything, he was getting quickly agitated. "I never said that. Don't go rushin' to conclusions. I'm just tryin' to say my piece."

Carol quieted. She thought he understood how _real_ it felt to her, how important it was to her. It was the only encounter she'd have with her daughter on this earth, in dreams.

"Maybe you'll run into a bear out here someday, maybe somethin' worse. Our group ain't gettin' bigger. We ain't gettin' anybody back we lost." He saw a look of guilt, of pain darken her face. "All of us gonna make sure we don't get any smaller. That means you don't go rushin' off by yourself, don't let anybody else do the same."

She pushed through the emotions that churned in her stomach at the thought of her precious Sophia gone forever. "You go hunting all the time by yourself-"

"I can take care of myself."

"But you just said-"

"Say somethin' did happen to me, huh? Say you were out there with me." He pointed toward the distant tree line. "I go down, you go down. You stay with the group... we're only down one, not two."

"You're so much more valuable than I am. Night watchman, hunter, survivalist..."

"Figured this whole world bein' shit thing woulda taught you somethin'. Everybody's got value. Everybody's damned _priceless_. 'Specially those you can trust." With his words completed, he stalked off, his determined steps taking himself past her, to the further reaches of the encampment.

Carol felt as though she'd had the wind knocked out of her.

* * *

><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	9. Insomnia

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. For my new friend Megan-Reedus. :) Posting early, 'cause I can! ~K

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Sophia shows Carol a waterfall, and Daryl points out the facts as he sees them.

* * *

><p>Insomnia<p>

* * *

><p>She'd wanted, desperately, for sleep to overtake her. She didn't care whether she ended up back behind the waterfall or maybe even in the serene field. Wherever her dreams would take her, she wanted to be there, with Sophia.<p>

Except, it didn't happen.

She tossed and turned for hours. When Daryl rose to take his turn at watch, she tried to roll over, to ignore his questioning eyes. The whole of the previous day, Daryl had kept his distance. If he was trying to prove his point, about value, he'd made it. His absence had brought sadness to her day as well as intense internal scrutiny.

For the whole morning, she'd focused on what he'd said. Their band was dwindling. There was power in numbers, and their numbers were down, by half it seemed. Instead of being able to do more, they could only do so much by themselves. Without Dale and Shane, the night watches were longer. Even Andrea had taken her turn. Without Patricia, trying to take care of the more mundane tasks was harder.

Around lunchtime, she'd poked at her plate of scavenged canned goods, heated haphazardly over a small campfire. Without her Sophia, she was lonely. Sure, Lori and Maggie and Beth did their best to keep her engaged in conversation, to try to fill the consuming void, but nothing would ever take the place of her child.

By bedtime, her mind raced. Maybe she'd gravitated toward Daryl because he didn't have anyone else either. His brother was gone. Her husband, her daughter were gone. Rick had Lori and Carl. Herschel had Beth and Maggie, and Maggie had Glenn. T-Dog was by himself, too, but she was drawn, like a moth to a flame, to Daryl.

And Daryl excelled at pushing her away.

When she'd rolled over, it was like that would somehow indicate to him, and maybe herself, that she really _didn't_ need him. An hour into her staring contest with a nearby tree trunk, however, she heard soft footsteps approaching. They weren't the scary, shuffling kind but the determined, powerful strides of, she knew, Daryl.

"You gonna lay there and freeze or you gonna get up and wander around?"

"I am gonna go to sleep and have the best dream yet."

His pause was momentary, as T-Dog had told him the status report when he took over. No one had seen her sleep. "How 'come you ain't slept yet?"

She remained on the ground, her gaze ever fixed on the tree, as though she might be able to bore holes into it. She sounded deflated as she said: "I don't know."

"Well, c'mon, then."

"Won't sleep if I'm movin'."

"You ain't sleepin' anyway," he said, offering her a hand.

She cautiously peered over her shoulder at his outstretched, open palm. Inhaling very slowly, she placed her hand into his.

With little effort, he pulled her to her feet. "Grab your blanket."

She followed him toward where he was keeping watch. "How'd you know I wasn't asleep anyway?"

"You don't shiver in your sleep. You do when you're freezin' and awake."

"Didn't realize that was worth noticing," she said softly.

He shrugged, slowing to a stop when he reached his sentry outpost.

"What'm I doin' here, Daryl?"

"You may as well keep me company."

She created a hood out of the blanket before pulling the rest around her tightly. "Not sure I'm good company."

"You tell me all the time I am. So, you must be _fantastic_ if I'm good."

She granted him a small smile in return.

"So, what's the matter, huh?"

"Honestly...?" She shrugged. "I am tired, but it's like my brain won't shut down. Like it just wants to spin and spin."

"Stop thinkin'."

She gave a tiny laugh. "It's not that easy."

"Make it."

"I can't just say: 'Brain, it's bedtime now, stop that.'"

"Well, you should."

"Is that what you do? To sleep?"

He shook his head.

"How do you do it?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably before nodding at the group. "I remember that all them people are countin' on me not to let 'em get bit in their sleep. Or not get bit even if they ain't sleepin'." When he sat down on a slight hill, she settled in beside him.

"You were right today."

He glanced over at her.

"About people bein' priceless, irreplaceable. But you are, too. You get that, don't you?"

"I guess," he admitted. "One thing though..." When she looked up at him, he granted her a rare grin. "I said that yesterday. Sleep, would ya?"

* * *

><p>Stay tuned...<p> 


	10. Deja Vu

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Carol can't sleep, so Daryl suggests she keep him company.

* * *

><p>Déjà Vu<p>

* * *

><p>Carol had stayed up nearly all night, which made the next morning absolutely miserable. While she didn't verbalize her exhaustion, it was clear from the dark circles under her eyes that she was barely holding onto her daily consciousness. She did everything she could to stay awake, to help Lori prepare some meager breakfast, and Maggie with sorting what was left of the supplies they'd found along the way.<p>

It wasn't much.

The farmhouse had provided a sense of normalcy as well as vast amenities: a kitchen with a stocked pantry, a place to wash clothes and hang them to try, chores to keep busy. It had reminded Carol of her childhood. She'd grown up poor but hadn't realized it until she was older. While her neighbors might've had a microwave, her mother had always cooked over a stove. The shortcuts that others had grown accustomed to weren't things she'd been able to enjoy until much later.

But without the pantry, the washbasins, and the other tasks to be accomplished for the upkeep of the house, they were scrambling, scraping materials together for survival.

After a week on the road, what few clean clothes had been brought along or found along the way were nearly gone. Carol yawned as she stuffed selections from everyone's wardrobes into a backpack. In the hopes of staying awake, she'd offered to go with Daryl to find some kind of water source for laundry, even if it was just a couple gallons in the trunk of someone's car along the road.

Daryl shouldered his gear, including his arrows and crossbow, to be ready for a hike. While they hunted for water, he could also hunt for something to eat later. There was only so much salvaged crap he could stomach.

As they started to wander away from the campsite, directly south, he glanced at her. While he wanted to ask if she was _sure_ she wanted to do this after her long night, he had a feeling he knew her answer already.

Sensing his eyes on her, she glanced at him. As soon as he saw her looking, he returned his attention to their path ahead. "What?"

"Nothin'," he answered simply.

"Daryl…?"

He shook his head. "I think there was water back where we camped the first few nights."

"We shoulda washed up when we had the chance."

He wanted to add that they should've stuck to the water's edge. While it wouldn't have offered exact protection on one side from walkers, the splashing would've been a dead giveaway. "Shoulda," he agreed. "Instead, you get to walk out here with me, half asleep…"

"It's not like anybody rests much anyhow," she said. Part of her going was completely selfish. She wanted to wear herself out so that, when they returned to camp, she would _definitely_ find herself in a deep, hopefully dream-filled sleep.

"Just keep in mind, you fall asleep, I ain't carryin' you back."

She smiled. "I ain't askin' you to."

He offered a slight nod.

They walked in companionable silence for a long time, with Daryl occasionally stopping to aim his crossbow at some moving _something_, whether it was a branch in the wind, a squirrel, or something he thought he saw. He was a little surprised she wasn't talking, to help keep herself awake. When he would occasionally glance back at her, she was still there, trailing along silently.

He might be able to get used to that kind of company on a hunt.

While she could've easily asked what he felt about the shift in Rick's leadership, or about the unspoken concern that flitted between the party members through knowing glances, she didn't. It was nice to _avoid_ the inevitable. There would be discussions, at some point, about the new directions the group was taking, but they didn't have to have them at that moment. The crisp air was pleasant to walk through. Some of the trees were beginning to change color, offering vibrant, beautiful scenery. It was peaceful.

Daryl stopped suddenly, and Carol nearly walked into him. He leveled his crossbow, taking careful aim. Before she even had a chance to figure out what he was firing at, the arrow sailed smoothly through the air, landing solidly in his target, a brown rabbit. "Good eats tonight," he said with a satisfied nod.

She smiled a little, following him further through the woods to his kill. As he saw to removing the bolt and securing the creature for easy carrying, she wandered further ahead, never far from him and always within sight. It wasn't long until the woods dissipated and a clearing opened up.

The field was wide and lush, even as autumn descended upon them. The green coloring was rich and oddly familiar to Carol. The wild grasses were tall and soft as she ran her hand through them. She felt a sharp pang in her heart and she had to struggle against an overwhelming sense of loss, one she couldn't place. It was only grass, only a field… only a rabbit that Daryl had killed.

Frowning deeply, she tried to figure out _why_ her emotions were getting the better of her. Sleep deprivation, perhaps. Atop the grass she was about to touch, a brown-and-black woolly worm inched across. Her stomach seemed to flip flop as she slowly knelt in front of it. She felt cold, not from the autumn breeze but from the realization that she had seen this all before.

Daryl took one look at it and declared: "Won't be as bad a winter as we think."

She blinked, utterly confused. "Sorry?"

He reached out, allowing the caterpillar to crawl into his hand. "Black is rough weeks of winter. There's plenty of brown in here. Won't be bad." When he looked back at Carol, she seemed paler than usual, making the dark circles under her eyes even more prevalent. Her skin looked clammy. His eyes narrowed in concern.

She forced herself to stand, to look out over the clearing. She'd seen it only a week ago, in spring-like hues. "Oh my God," she murmured.

"What?"

"This is Sophia's Meadow…"

* * *

><p>Stay tuned…<p> 


	11. Signs and Wonders

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Carol joins Daryl in surveying their surroundings for laundry/dinner purposes, and Carol realizes she's been there before…

* * *

><p>Signs and Wonders<p>

* * *

><p>Daryl tried to process what Carol had just said. "Sophia's Meadow?" he repeated.<p>

She began slowly, walking toward the edge, remembering her daughter's spinning form amid the summer sun and the bright flowers that dotted the field. "She was here, _we_ were here," she murmured.

Reaching out, Daryl wrapped his hand tightly around her arm at her elbow. "Slow down, huh? What are you talkin' about?"

She looked at him, shocked at the preventative measure from following Sophia's direction. "We were here," she said again, as though that would clear any confusion.

"We who, huh? I ain't been here before," he said, taking a glance around to ensure that it was all new, foreign territory.

"Me and Sophia."

He demanded clarification, his grip continuing to keep her rooted to the spot. "When?"

She shook her head. "Just… days ago!"

"In your dream?"

Her face broke into a smile—he had understood. It faded, however, when his obvious concerns remained. "There's… there's water here, nearby, I know it. Sophia showed me."

He sighed. Clearly she'd forgotten his reminder to keep track of what was real and what wasn't. "We're goin' back."

"Back? But there's a stream …" She pointed in the distance, where Sophia had led.

"And a bear, right?" he asked, his voice even and his expression unyielding.

She tugged unsuccessfully against his vise-like hold. "There's water. I could do laundry; you could do fishing. We could go back to camp with directions, a map, more food… wasn't that what we were sent to do?"

"We weren't sent here to go chasin' after Sophia," he said through clenched teeth. Besides, he'd done that once and had come up empty. He wasn't about to do that again, not when he knew she was dead and buried.

The hurt that flared in her eyes was instantaneous. "Let me go," she demanded. Her voice, however, betrayed her, hovering at just above a whisper.

"Won't happen," he said, trying to pull her closer.

Frustration and heartache fueled her as she struggled against him. She never raised her free hand against him, though she did attempt to push him back from her as she tried to wriggle away.

He told himself it was just because she was tired, that it was the exhaustion talking and acting. It might've been amusing in some other life, but he could tell that she believed her own dreams, that she wasn't about to let go of whatever truth she'd managed to convince herself was real. He sighed heavily.

She was desperate. Why couldn't he understand? Why didn't he trust her? She'd never be able to overpower him, not even if she'd gotten a full night's rest. While she'd frequently stood, taking whatever punishment _whoever_ chose to dish out to her, she was hungry for a miracle, for some way to escape from him. She knew what she would find, if he would just release her.

It would only be a matter of time, he decided, before she would wear herself out and he might have to break his word and carry her back to camp anyway. While it wasn't his first choice, he'd prefer that to following her into the woods as she chased after ghosts.

Neither was sure how it happened, how she managed to tear herself from his grasp. Both exchanged a fleeting look of shock before she took off like a shot through the field with her suddenly discovered freedom.

"Carol!" He was left with no option; he had to follow. Anger boiling, he charged after her.

She moved with a determination she felt from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet, clearing the meadow and re-entering the woods that surrounded it. It was like she could _hear_ Sophia's sweet laughter, like she could almost see her daughter bounding along ahead of her. She'd prove to Daryl that it wasn't craziness that was talking, but some miracle, some proof that hope wasn't lost, that they weren't doomed to succumb to the plague that surrounded them.

He wasn't sure how she was able to move so swiftly or surely. Even with his history of traipsing through backwoods Georgia, he had to keep glancing down to make sure he wasn't about to fall over. "Dammit, woman, _stop_!" he growled.

Normally, she would've easily obliged. It wasn't typically her style to push the boundaries others had set. She'd never been one to rock a boat or cause any kind of uproar. At that particular moment, however, she couldn't remember ever feeling so strongly before.

* * *

><p>Stay tuned…<p> 


	12. Maybe

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. Have to work late tonight, so posting early... so I won't be posting horrendously late. ~K

Previously, on the Walking Dead: Carol and Daryl are in search of dinner and a water source. When Carol recognizes the scenery from her dream, she drives them deeper into the woods, farther from the safety of camp.

* * *

><p>Maybe<p>

* * *

><p>Next time Daryl went hunting, he wasn't going to take anybody with him, Rick's orders be damned. They were expelling precious energy… and for what? As far as he could tell, it was for absolutely <em>nothing<em>. He understood that everyone struggled with the stress of their reality in different ways, but following pixie dust trails into the forest was simply unacceptable.

Had she not listened to anything that he'd said? That they needed to be smarter about what they did, and where they did things? That recklessness was stupid? That, as much as he hated alliances, they were stronger, better together? Running into the wilderness with no direction, loud enough for any predator to hear them did not fall into his master plan at all.

He was starting to get mad at himself, for his inability to catch up to her. He'd never figured she could be quite that crafty, to get away from him in the first place, but her speed through the trees was impressive as she stayed just beyond his reach.

His stomach twisted at the familiar sense of hunting a Peletier through the woods.

Carol couldn't stop. She knew it was just ahead, right around the bend. She could almost feel Sophia's presence urging her forward, needing her to see what the child desperately wanted to show. No thought was given to the dangers from the dream. It seemed like an incongruous detail, some foreign matter that didn't belong in Sophia's Meadow or the babbling brook that had to be only a few more feet in front of her.

"For the last time, it _ain't real_!"

She stopped dead in her tracks at his words, balancing precariously on the creek's soggy bank, her tennis shoes sinking slightly into the mud. The water was clear and beautiful, bubbling as it churned downstream. Carol laughed, feeling a genuine lightness in her whole body at the relief. She lowered the backpack from her shoulders, letting it fall from her hand onto the grassy tuft beside her.

Daryl nearly barreled into her. He could've easily toppled her into the water had he not been able to steady both himself and throw an arm around her to keep her upright. He looked over her shoulder, in mild shock, at what lay before them. "I'll be damned…" he breathed.

"I told you," she murmured. "_Sophia_ knew."

It took a moment before he realized he was _holding _her protectively against him, his hand flat on her side, just above her hip. Clearing his throat, he quickly took a step back and released her.

She glanced at him. Her color had returned to normal, and she looked more lifelike and animated than perhaps he'd ever seen since Sophia had vanished. If his proximity had bothered her, it wasn't evident on her face at all.

He exhaled. "You'd best get to it, then," he said, as though he hadn't just had to chase her, or that he hadn't just failed miserably to get her to see his perspective. The fact of the matter was they were now at some stream in the middle of nowhere, and they would have to return to camp before dark. Looking at where they had come, he trusted that their impatient steps would be easy to track back.

Without questioning or hesitation, Carol knelt by the water, digging the washboard they'd scavenged from a roadside antique shop a few days back from the backpack to begin her task.

While Daryl caught his breath, he strung a quick clothesline between two trees near where she worked. The laundry could be at least _mostly_ dry before hiking back, if they were lucky. With that accomplished, he began a quiet patrol of their surroundings, looking for both something to hunt and anything out of the ordinary. He made mental notes of the area, taking in the curvature of the mountains in the distance, the kinds of trees that surrounded them, even the outcropping of rocks that dotted the creek further upstream.

As he paced, he wondered how Carol _really_ could have known. He had vague recollections of experiencing déjà vu before the walkers rose, but he hadn't since. Whether he'd actually dreamed something or if he'd just _thought_ it was familiar, he'd never been sure. But, she had been so certain and, startlingly, she'd been so _accurate_.

Trying to shake off whether it was fate or divine intervention or _whatever_, he paced further and further out, keeping her within earshot. He was able to kill several squirrels and even a crow before deciding he had all the meat they could handle for a day or two. As he returned to the stream, Carol was pinning a pair of his worn, torn blue jeans to the line.

They were still sopping wet. She'd done her best to wring them out but hadn't been able to get enough torque.

With the crossbow secured, he silently crossed to the line and squeezed out the excess water with ease. It was oddly domestic, maybe even _serene_. It was like nothing bad was out there, like they had all the time in the world.

Her eyes met his briefly over the line before she immediately set to hanging the rest of the freshly washed clothes with her icy, frozen fingers from their repeated dunking in the creek. While it wasn't much, a clean pair of jeans or a fresh shirt would do wonders for morale, she knew. She could easily push past the numbness for the others. "Did you find anything out there?"

"Other than dinner?" He held up his string of kills. "No." It still gave him pause, as they hadn't seen _anything_ since leaving the farm.

"Maybe things are turnin' around then?" she asked.

He took the khaki pants she was preparing to hang, twisting them tightly before offering them back to her. "Maybe." As she unfurled them again, shaking them out before clipping them to the line, a movement across the creek caught his attention.

The change in his demeanor was instant and nearly frightening to Carol. The killer look returned to his eyes, the tension in his body was ratcheted up. He looked like a cat, ready to pounce, a beast ready to strike.

"Maybe not," he muttered under his breath as he drew the crossbow, securing the walker in his sights.

* * *

><p>Stay tuned…<p> 


	13. Eye of the Storm

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. Extra squeezie hugs for BBJ. Love you, brother.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Carol does laundry, Daryl hunts… and a walker lurks in the distance.

* * *

><p>Eye of the Storm<p>

* * *

><p>She wasn't sure how she found the strength to look back, where Daryl's crossbow pointed, but when she glanced over, she saw the emaciated figure, its dislocated jaw hanging slightly to the left of where it should've been; its hands and feet, bare and bony. The guttural hiss sounded hungry and menacing.<p>

She would never, ever, get used to seeing walkers. In the face of every one she'd seen since Sophia, she recognized that, under the decaying skin, milky eyes, and graying teeth, some _person _was tortured. Had they been consumed with fear before the bite? Had they cried out to heaven for someone to save them? Did they die trying to protect their loved ones? Did they go blissfully in their sleep, unaware of the dangers that hulked over them? Was she next? If not her, then who?

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it dropped to the ground with an arrow sunk deeply into its skull.

When the walker fell, Daryl saw Carol jump, startled. "Can't hurt you now," he told her.

Her nod in return was jerky as she attempted to return her attention to the laundry. Her hands shook, not just from the cold, as she hung one of Carl's tee shirts.

Daryl watched her for a moment. He knew the adrenaline would peter out eventually, that she just needed to work through it. Maybe it would help her finish the laundry faster, not that he could make the wind blow any stronger, or the sun shine any brighter to attempt to speed the drying process. They'd have to do the best they could, and head back after lunch to make it to the camp before dark. "Gonna go across the stream, make sure it's done."

She looked at him, a panic clear in her eyes, but she wordlessly nodded.

He started to take a step toward the water, but stopped. "You see anything, you holler, okay?"

With her trembling fingers, she removed one of her shirts from the backpack, nodding again.

He leaned in ever so slightly toward her. "Gotta use your voice, so I know you _can _holler if the need be." His tone was softer, holding an inkling of understanding that it was _incredibly_ difficult for her in this new reality.

Her voice quivered only slightly. "I can holler, Daryl; I promise."

Nodding, he set about crossing the water. On any other day, under any other circumstance, it would be a peaceful place. He could imagine picture-perfect families coming by the banks for a picnic in the middle of summertime, doing whatever families like that _did_. Fireworks or games maybe. He really didn't know. It didn't matter anymore. Everything was corrupted. Even a task like laundry became an excerpt from a horror movie.

The walker wore a park ranger uniform, complete with radio and knife attached to its belt. Once Daryl removed the arrow, wiping the gooey remnants on the walker's pants leg, he requisitioned the gear. They were going to need to do better if a herd ever descended again. While they'd been lucky to decide what the others _would probably_ do, it would be better to know _exactly _what needed to be done. They needed to decide which direction to go if the unthinkable occurred. If they had a plan, they wouldn't need it. But, not having one… they'd desperately needed it. Maybe if they could find the rest of the walkie-talkies at some ranger station, they could use them under the direst of circumstances, saving the batteries for when they needed it most.

With his new supplies, he looked across the water again to Carol, who was scrubbing ferociously at another shirt, one that looked like it might've been Rick's. Her attention was scattered as her eyes flitted about, to her right and left, over her shoulder, across the brook. It was as though she was going through the motions of laundry, but whether or not that shirt needed _that_ thorough of a washing, he couldn't be sure.

She stilled instantly when she realized she was being watched. She couldn't quite make out Daryl's expression. He had such a good poker face; she imagined it was all by design. While he could be a member of the group, he still had his many secrets. So much didn't matter. Outstanding warrants were a thing of the past. Background checks were obsolete. The ability to survive and provide helpful services to the group was the only necessity, and he _excelled_ at that.

He'd started to take a step to the banks, to cross back to her side of the stream, when he saw her face drain of all color a second time. She let go of the shirt and it coasted quickly downstream as she got to her feet. He realized that she wasn't looking at him but _past_ him.

"W-walkers!" she cried.

Spinning on his heel, he tried to retrieve his crossbow from his back but was unable to, finding himself surrounded by a small pack of three—another in a ranger uniform, the other two in tourist garb, including one with a smashed digital camera around its neck. He realized that maybe there was something to be said of _using_ the adrenaline that came from walker attacks. He'd become desensitized to it, had allowed his guard to drop the moment he had dropped the first walker. Of course it wouldn't be an isolated incident, not after a week with no movement whatsoever from the dead.

The worst was never over. The peace that traditionally followed even the worst of nature's fury would never descend over them. They could only cling to the hope of the peaceful eyes of the storm, giving them pause enough to catch their breath before they had to prepare for the coming onslaught.

He brandished his new knife. "Who's first?" he sneered.

* * *

><p>Stay tuned…<p> 


	14. Hell and Half of Georgia

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Daryl kills one walker, but there's still three more coming.

* * *

><p>Hell and Half of Georgia<p>

* * *

><p>They'd moved with eerie swiftness. It had appeared disjointed, as though she'd seen the walkers appear, blinked, and then they had flown to surround Daryl. She was overcome with petrifying fear, frozen to the spot.<p>

She'd meant what she'd said, even before she realized that her sweet Sophia was gone. She couldn't lose Daryl, too. Instinct kicked in and she splashed across the water, the washboard still clenched tightly in one of her hands.

Daryl took a moment to try to sum up his opponents. In his life, he'd long faced humans and animals, learning how they thought, how they reacted. The problem with the walkers was that they were unlike anything else he'd faced. They were _unthinking_, driven by the basest of desires. They weren't afraid of fire, wind, or rain. They ran toward loud sounds instead of away from them.

Even with different chunks of flesh missing, they moved with equal speed. They were undeterred by their own horrid scent, or the fact that there were three of them, and only one target. And even if they ate him entirely, their hunger would never be sated. None of that mattered.

While all of that factored into how quickly he needed to sink his knife into the heads of each of his attackers, he hadn't counted on the ferocious yell from behind him.

Carol swung the washboard like a baseball bat at the back of the head of one of the tourists. While the hit landed solidly, it only made the walker fall. The once-living _thing_ turned its attention to her. The board, now bent from the impact, fell from her hands.

Daryl accepted the distraction, plunging the blade up under the drooling jaw of the ranger, burying it to the handle before yanking it out unceremoniously. The camera-toting walker barred its crooked, blood-stained teeth and he put it down just as quickly as the first. When he turned, to see where Carol and the third walker were, he heard the splash of frantic footsteps leading away from him.

Carol was running up stream with the walker reaching its spindly arms out toward her.

"Wait!" he called out. There was no need to go leading it all over hell and half of Georgia when, if she would just lead it back, he'd take care of it. He wasn't sure if she didn't hear him, didn't believe him, or if she was just on auto-pilot but, whatever the reason, she wasn't stopping. Frustrated, he chased after her _again_.

At the rotted, fallen log, Carol left the water's edge. Moving by memory, she struggled to keep her balance through the thorny patches. Daryl had been right all along. While she'd been running away from a bear in the dream, it hadn't meant an actual bear but a representation of danger. The _thing_ that was chasing her certainly wasn't losing her. While the embedded barbs hurt her, they didn't bother the walker one bit.

_Ain't__ real_.

She stumbled when she heard Daryl's voice in her head. As the ground rushed up to meet her, she threw her hands out to try to break the fall. It couldn't be false, though. The meadow had been real, and the stream. Why wouldn't her dream be three for three? Her Sophia wouldn't dare steer her wrong.

Before she had an opportunity to banish the doubts in her mind, sharp fingers grasped her right ankle. Desperately, she kicked at the walker.

"Carol!"

She could hear Daryl somewhere in the distance, which was of some comfort, but he didn't sound anywhere near close enough to help her. "This way!" she called out. Wriggling her right foot and timing it with a solid kick at the walker's wrist, her legs fell free, though she was without a shoe. Scrambling to her feet, she bounded again toward where Sophia had guided her.

The waterfall was just as breathtakingly beautiful as she remembered and she paused, for a brief second, to admire it, to feel the relief wash over her like the cascade itself. The peace was short-lived when she felt rather than heard the presence of the walker. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and the adrenaline flooded her system. She rushed up the steep hill, grabbing hold of gnarled roots that had grown atop the soil, digging the toe of her shoe into alcoves as well as attempting to do the same with her socked foot. It wasn't the prettiest climb ever, and she only nearly slid back down twice, but she made it to the rocky ledge and into the alcove behind the waterfall, exactly like Sophia had shown her.

Once safely in the cave, the exhaustion was nearly too much. Between the sleep deprivation and the exertion, as well as realizing what kind of pain she'd found herself in during the run, she practically fell into a sitting position.

The walker attempted to climb the hill, making only a handful of steps before sliding back to the ground. Hissing and snarling, it tried again, making no further progress. It didn't matter how many times it walked at the hill, it wasn't smart enough to get traction to climb as Carol had.

Exhaling, Carol relaxed. It couldn't reach her; it couldn't eat her. She wasn't going to turn into one of those things, at least not that day. She took the moment to review her wounds, noting the dirt and grass embedded in her palms, and the thorns still stuck in her pants and socks.

Her relief was fleeting as she realized that Daryl was still out there. She tried to convince herself that he was fine, that he could handle himself. He'd told her as much before. And she'd been the one to stupidly say that she could help if she was there with him. She hadn't. He'd gone one way; she'd gone another.

Getting to her feet slowly, she looked out from her vantage point. Surely she'd see him. Surely…

* * *

><p>Stay tuned…<p> 


	15. Fate

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Daryl takes out two walkers and another follows Carol to the waterfall.

* * *

><p>Fate<p>

* * *

><p>Rather than toting lunch through the woods with him, he'd stopped for only a half a second to secure his string of kills over a branch. If some creature, living or dead, got to it before he did, then he'd just have to go hunting again later. He'd deal with that. What he didn't want to deal with was losing someone else. There had already been way too many deaths too quickly back to back. He was done with that.<p>

If he ever met Karma, he promised then and there he'd kick her ass.

Daryl wished Carol had been more forthcoming with details from her dream as he was left to try to chase after her. Since she'd known exactly where she was going, each footfall was determined, each step calculated. Because he wasn't entirely sure, he had to follow the signs. But, he didn't see any.

"Carol!" He needed a direction. She wasn't still in the water; she'd deviated one way or the other.

The silence that followed seemed to last for an unbearable amount of time. It was as though everything slowed when he was hanging on, waiting for her answer. He'd be damned if he had to smash her head in, to prevent her from suffering her daughter's unfortunate fate.

"This way!"

The moment he heard her, he took off to follow. It wasn't long until he spotted drag marks through the brush, caused by the walker's jerky steps. In the center of a clearing, cluttered with thorny groundcover, he saw a muddy sneaker. Swallowing a curse, he continued his chase. The occasional footprint in soft ground, the low-lying broken twigs and plants, all led him closer and closer to something that sounded… loud.

It wasn't a scream or a cry, just a roaring din in the distance.

He stopped dead when he spotted it, a rushing waterfall.

"Daryl!"

His attention was drawn to a point midway up the falls, where Carol stood, her weight balanced precariously on her left foot, a hand outstretched and waving. She pointed suddenly at something on the ground, at his level. Following her finger, he saw the walker, eroding the steep hill with its inability to climb. Rather than waste an arrow, he strolled to it, his movements undetected over the sound of the falls. It never saw the blade coming.

With the walker dispatched, he edged its body away from the hill. "How'd you get up there?"

"Takes a little doin'," she admitted.

"There an easier way?"

She shrugged. "Don't think so."

He secured the new knife in its sheath. "You knew about this place, too?"

"Sophia," she answered simply.

He nodded a little. "Looks like we found a safe laundry room." He took a second to review the way she stood, the way she cradled her hands against her chest. "You okay?"

She turned both bloody palms to him. "I'll be fine."

It could've been far worse. He wanted to tell her to heed his directions next time, but everything had turned out okay. They weren't any the worse for wear, and they knew where they could find water, even shelter from the walkers when out scavenging and hunting. It wasn't worth the fight, getting her upset for nothing. "Sit tight," he told her. "I'll go get everything, meet you back here."

"Daryl…"

He looked up at her.

"Be careful."

He wanted to point out that she'd been the one damaging his calm that day, but opted against it. He merely nodded in return.

On his way back to the initial camp, he marked the trail, occasionally notching the trees. He picked up Carol's lost shoe, his untouched kills, and even loaded up the laundry and cracked washboard back into her backpack. The other dead ranger had been equipped similarly, so he picked up another knife and a second walkie-talkie. If he'd been smart, he'd have left the first set with Carol, so he could've been sure she was fine on the way back.

Granted, he hadn't had time to check either radio yet. The first one crackled to life, with sparse static. A quick tune across stations revealed more of the same. To conserve battery power, he shut it off. When he tried the second, only the knob clicked in response. Maybe with a little time and spare parts from _somewhere,_ they could fix it. It had the potential to be the start of a plan at least.

But the knife would've been a good thing to leave with Carol regardless.

By the time he found his way to the waterfall again, she was curled up on the floor of the cave, her arms wrapped around herself. Exhaustion had taken over, and why shouldn't it? She'd been awake for most of his watch that morning, only getting an hour, maybe two of sleep.

He set up the clothesline along the water's edge, hoping the wind created by the falls might help complete the process. After, he carefully climbed the steep hill, edging along the rocky ledge to the cave. How she could sleep with the echoing roar of the water, he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. He settled in beside her, removing his leather vest and draping it over her. It was the best he could do.

* * *

><p>Stay tuned…<p> 


	16. Ready or Not

For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the Walking Dead—Daryl kills the final walker and realizes that Carol (and Sophia) had good directions.

* * *

><p>Ready or Not<p>

* * *

><p>It was unlike anything else, the feeling of peace that surrounded her and filled her up from within, as she stared up into the cloudless blue sky. She was so happy to be back in Sophia's Meadow, blanketed in warm sunshine, resting on the sweet, tall grass.<p>

"Mom?"

She smiled, turning her head slightly, to see Sophia propped up on her elbow.

"You're doin' that slow thing _again_."

"And I'm going to enjoy every second of it," Carol said with a soft laugh.

She huffed _loudly_, though it sounded incredibly put-upon. "If that's what you're gonna do…" She got to her feet.

Reluctantly, Carol sat up. "And what are you gonna do?"

Determined, familiar footsteps emerged from the woods surrounding the clearing. "She's got about ten seconds to hide…"

Sophia squealed in excitement as Daryl placed a hand over his eyes, counting slowly.

"You're gonna indulge that?" Carol asked, getting to her feet.

He peered at her from between the spaces in his fingers. "Better than the alternative, ain't it?"

"You've got a point there," she admitted quietly.

"Don't let him cheat!" laughed Sophia as she dove behind a flowering bush.

"Eight… nine…"

Sophia giggled.

"Ten," he announced, lowering his hand.

* * *

><p>When she woke, it was under a starry, pre-dawn sky back at camp. Her nap at the waterfall had been dreamless, good only for energizing her for the hike back. Once they'd returned, the women had been intrigued at a "safe" place to work, and Rick had agreed that a perfected exit strategy would be one of their best defenses against a herd.<p>

The inevitable question had come up, as to how they had found the water and the waterfall, but Daryl had answered that it was just luck. He had remembered how the others had treated Carol's previous dreaming confessions, and had decided there was no need to revisit that. The look she'd given him conveyed the appropriate thanks without her ever having to open her mouth. He'd merely dipped his head slightly in return.

After a hot dinner of fresh squirrel, Carol had found her way to the back of the bike, digging out her blanket to settle in early. No one had questioned it, particularly not after Daryl told them about the four walkers.

Wouldn't that have been something, if Sophia had only been playing a game of hide and seek when Daryl had gone looking for her, and, more than that, if he'd _found_ her. While that outcome could never be a reality, it was a beautiful dream, one she'd cling to when she found her mind drifting down the darker paths… ones that led her to wonder what Sophia's final moments were like. If she could rewrite history, she would. And she'd rewrite it like that.

His voice was soft when he asked: "How'd you sleep?"

"Best dream yet," she admitted, looking up at him.

He pondered for a moment what his best dream would entail. A working TV. An ice cold beer. Hell, maybe even fast food. He'd lived so long without those things now, though, that it seemed pointless. He could deal without them. "Yeah?"

She smiled, before slowly getting to her feet. "By far."

He nodded, giving her the moment to continue if she wanted, or not. When she remained silent, going about packing up her blanket, he had to ask. "I ain't gonna be chasin' after you today, am I? No bears or nothin'…?"

She folded the blanket over her arm, shaking her head. She started back toward the bike but hesitated before adding. "At least, not today."

On the early morning wind, she could _almost_ hear Sophia's innocent giggle.

* * *

><p>End.<p> 


End file.
